It was obvious that he had not followed a word Jem said, for all

Atticus said was, "You're right. We'd better keep this and the blanket

to ourselves. Someday, maybe, Scout can thank him for covering her

up."

"Thank who?" I asked.

"Boo Radley. You were so busy looking at the fire you didn't know it

when he put the blanket around you."

My stomach turned to water and I nearly threw up when Jem held out

the blanket and crept toward me. "He sneaked out of the house- turn

'round- sneaked up, an' went like this!"

Atticus said dryly, "Do not let this inspire you to further glory,

Jeremy."

Jem scowled, "I ain't gonna do anything to him," but I watched the

spark of fresh adventure leave his eyes. "Just think, Scout," he said,

"if you'd just turned around, you'da seen him."

Calpurnia woke us at noon. Atticus had said we need not go to school

that day, we'd learn nothing after no sleep. Calpurnia said for us

to try and clean up the front yard.

Miss Maudie's sunhat was suspended in a thin layer of ice, like a

fly in amber, and we had to dig under the dirt for her hedge-clippers.

We found her in her back yard, gazing at her frozen charred azaleas.

"We're bringing back your things, Miss Maudie," said Jem. "We're

awful sorry."

Miss Maudie looked around, and the shadow of her old grin crossed

her face. "Always wanted a smaller house, Jem Finch. Gives me more

yard. Just think, I'll have more room for my azaleas now!"

"You ain't grievin', Miss Maudie?" I asked, surprised. Atticus

said her house was nearly all she had.

"Grieving, child? Why, I hated that old cow barn. Thought of settin'

fire to it a hundred times myself, except they'd lock me up."

"But-"

"Don't you worry about me, Jean Louise Finch. There are ways of

doing things you don't know about. Why, I'll build me a little house

and take me a couple of roomers and- gracious, I'll have the finest

yard in Alabama. Those Bellingraths'll look plain puny when I get

started!"

Jem and I looked at each other. "How'd it catch, Miss Maudie?" he

asked.

"I don't know, Jem. Probably the flue in the kitchen. I kept a

fire in there last night for my potted plants. Hear you had some

unexpected company last night, Miss Jean Louise."

"How'd you know?"

"Atticus told me on his way to town this morning. Tell you the

truth, I'd like to've been with you. And I'd've had sense enough to

turn around, too."

Miss Maudie puzzled me. With most of her possessions gone and her

beloved yard a shambles, she still took a lively and cordial

interest in Jem's and my affairs.

She must have seen my perplexity. She said, "Only thing I worried

about last night was all the danger and commotion it caused. This

whole neighborhood could have gone up. Mr. Avery'll be in bed for a

week- he's right stove up. He's too old to do things like that and I

told him so. Soon as I can get my hands clean and when Stephanie

Crawford's not looking, I'll make him a Lane cake. That Stephanie's

been after my recipe for thirty years, and if she thinks I'll give

it to her just because I'm staying with her she's got another think

coming."

I reflected that if Miss Maudie broke down and gave it to her,

Miss Stephanie couldn't follow it anyway. Miss Maudie had once let

me see it: among other things, the recipe called for one large cup

of sugar.

It was a still day. The air was so cold and clear we heard the

courthouse clock clank, rattle and strain before it struck the hour.

Miss Maudie's nose was a color I had never seen before, and I inquired

about it.

"I've been out here since six o'clock," she said. "Should be

frozen by now." She held up her hands. A network of tiny lines

crisscrossed her palms, brown with dirt and dried blood.

"You've ruined 'em," said Jem. "Why don't you get a colored man?"

There was no note of sacrifice in his voice when he added, "Or

Scout'n'me, we can help you."

Miss Maudie said, "Thank you sir, but you've got a job of your own

over there." She pointed to our yard.

"You mean the Morphodite?" I asked. "Shoot, we can rake him up in

a jiffy."

Miss Maudie stared down at me, her lips moving silently. Suddenly

she put her hands to her head and whooped. When we left her, she was

still chuckling.

Jem said he didn't know what was the matter with her- that was

just Miss Maudie.

9

"You can just take that back, boy!"

This order, given by me to Cecil Jacobs, was the beginning of a

rather thin time for Jem and me. My fists were clenched and I was

ready to let fly. Atticus had promised me he would wear me out if he

ever heard of me fighting any more; I was far too old and too big

for such childish things, and the sooner I learned to hold in, the

better off everybody would be. I soon forgot.

Cecil Jacobs made me forget. He had announced in the schoolyard

the day before that Scout Finch's daddy defended niggers. I denied it,

but told Jem.

"What'd he mean sayin' that?" I asked.

"Nothing," Jem said. "Ask Atticus, he'll tell you."

"Do you defend niggers, Atticus?" I asked him that evening.

"Of course I do. Don't say nigger, Scout. That's common."

"'s what everybody at school says."

"From now on it'll be everybody less one-"

"Well if you don't want me to grow up talkin' that way, why do you

send me to school?"

My father looked at me mildly, amusement in his eyes. Despite our

compromise, my campaign to avoid school had continued in one form or

another since my first day's dose of it: the beginning of last

September had brought on sinking spells, dizziness, and mild gastric

complaints. I went so far as to pay a nickel for the privilege of

rubbing my head against the head of Miss Rachel's cook's son, who

was afflicted with a tremendous ringworm. It didn't take.

But I was worrying another bone. "Do all lawyers defend n-Negroes,

Atticus?"

"Of course they do, Scout."

"Then why did Cecil say you defended niggers? He made it sound

like you were runnin' a still."

Atticus sighed. "I'm simply defending a Negro- his name's Tom

Robinson. He lives in that little settlement beyond the town dump.

He's a member of Calpurnia's church, and Cal knows his family well.

She says they're clean-living folks. Scout, you aren't old enough to

understand some things yet, but there's been some high talk around

town to the effect that I shouldn't do much about defending this

man. It's a peculiar case- it won't come to trial until summer

session. John Taylor was kind enough to give us a postponement..."

"If you shouldn't be defendin' him, then why are you doin' it?"

"For a number of reasons," said Atticus. "The main one is, if I

didn't I couldn't hold up my head in town, I couldn't represent this

county in the legislature, I couldn't even tell you or Jem not to do

something again."

"You mean if you didn't defend that man, Jem and me wouldn't have to

mind you any more?"

"That's about right."

"Why?"

"Because I could never ask you to mind me again. Scout, simply by

the nature of the work, every lawyer gets at least one case in his

lifetime that affects him personally. This one's mine, I guess. You

might hear some ugly talk about it at school, but do one thing for

me if you will: you just hold your head high and keep those fists

down. No matter what anybody says to you, don't you let 'em get your

goat. Try fighting with your head for a change... it's a good one,

even if it does resist learning."

"Atticus, are we going to win it?"

"No, honey."

"Then why-"

"Simply because we were licked a hundred years before we started

is no reason for us not to try to win," Atticus said.

"You sound like Cousin Ike Finch," I said. Cousin Ike Finch was

Maycomb County's sole surviving Confederate veteran. He wore a General

Hood type beard of which he was inordinately vain. At least once a

year Atticus, Jem and I called on him, and I would have to kiss him.

It was horrible. Jem and I would listen respectfully to Atticus and

Cousin Ike rehash the war. "Tell you, Atticus," Cousin Ike would

say, "the Missouri Compromise was what licked us, but if I had to go

through it agin I'd walk every step of the way there an' every step

back jist like I did before an' furthermore we'd whip 'em this time...

now in 1864, when Stonewall Jackson came around by- I beg your pardon,

young folks. Ol' Blue Light was in heaven then, God rest his saintly

brow...."

"Come here, Scout," said Atticus. I crawled into his lap and

tucked my head under his chin. He put his arms around me and rocked me

gently. "It's different this time," he said. "This time we aren't

fighting the Yankees, we're fighting our friends. But remember this,

no matter how bitter things get, they're still our friends and this is

still our home."

With this in mind, I faced Cecil Jacobs in the schoolyard next

day: "You gonna take that back, boy?"

"You gotta make me first!" he yelled. "My folks said your daddy

was a disgrace an' that nigger oughta hang from the water-tank!"

I drew a bead on him, remembered what Atticus had said, then dropped

my fists and walked away, "Scout's a cow- ward!" ringing in my ears.

It was the first time I ever walked away from a fight.

Somehow, if I fought Cecil I would let Atticus down. Atticus so

rarely asked Jem and me to do something for him, I could take being

called a coward for him. I felt extremely noble for having remembered,

and remained noble for three weeks. Then Christmas came and disaster

struck.

Jem and I viewed Christmas with mixed feelings. The good side was

the tree and Uncle Jack Finch. Every Christmas Eve day we met Uncle

Jack at Maycomb Junction, and he would spend a week with us.

A flip of the coin revealed the uncompromising lineaments of Aunt

Alexandra and Francis.